


Daemon's Demons

by OmniGamer



Series: A Rose's Thorns [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmniGamer/pseuds/OmniGamer
Summary: A prequel to Sanguine's Inner Daemons, but not necessary to enjoy Sanguine' Inner Daemons.Daemon thought he could put his past behind him. He thought he could move on with his life, living quietly and unassumingly, only his nights haunted by the occasional nightmare. But, now that nightmare has followed him from his dreams and seeks to drag him into a world of eternal night.
Relationships: Original Male Imperial Character/Original Male Vampire Character
Series: A Rose's Thorns [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662139
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Waking Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary has mentioned this is actually a prequel to Sanguine' Inner Daemons. This focuses much more on Daemon and why he is how he is. This happens before he meets Sanguine for the first time.
> 
> I've posted it initially second in the series because as a whole I feel it reads better after reading Sanguine's Inner Daemon even if this one happens first. Obviously, that has changed considering that I'm working on a sequel.
> 
> This is actually finished, so for once you can expect regular updates until its all posted \o/

“Daemon…”

The voice is so familiar, an ache in his chest.

"Daemon… wake up."

His eyes open slowly. Warm light filters in through the inn's window. The naked silhouette of his lover is framed in the golden rays of morning and the sight elicits a smile on Daemon’s face.

Noticing Daemon is finally awake, Jonan turns away from the window. "And here I thought you'd never wake up…" He climbs back onto the bed, his long legs maneuvering to be on either side of Daemon's body.

Daemon slings an arm around the back of Jonan's head. He drags him down and kisses him softly on the lips. His affection is returned easily. "And miss this?"

Jonan laughs, joyous like the flutter of wings. "Are you sure you can't stay longer? I'll miss you."

Daemon hugs Jonan closer and rolls onto his side with the elven man. "Don't have a choice. They're moving us to Solitude in a few days."

"I don't want you to go."

Daemon hugs the taller mer tighter. He can already feel the lull of sleep wanting to take him back. "We could just stay here…"

Jonan's laugh this time is even lighter, and a loving hand strokes through Daemon's sandy-brown hair. "If only time could stand still. If only I could keep you all to myself."

The Imperial can't help but hum an agreement. His honey-golden eyes close briefly.

"Wake up, Daemon…"

This time when Daemon opens his eyes, it's different. A different inn,  _ The Count's Arms _ . He has to leave on one of the Imperial fleet's ships tomorrow.

He wishes he hadn't opened his eyes. He doesn't want that image of Jonan's form burned into his eyes. That soft golden skin veiled in thin, golden chiffon-lace. He doesn't want to see the dagger Jonan holds, the betrayal that forms in Daemon's heart at the sight of it aimed at him.

Time slows and his eyes widen as fresh crimson sprays between them as Daemon suddenly sits up to defend himself.

"You weren't supposed to move, Daemon," insists Jonan with a teasing tone, as if the mer hadn't just slashed his nose open.

Daemon's hand moves instinctively for his hunting knife on the nightstand. His fingers close around its leather-wrapped hilt. His arm swings back and its pointed end buries deep into Jonan's neck.

He doesn't mean to. 

He  _ didn't _ mean to.

****

Daemon bolted to wakefulness. He couldn’t say when he had sat up, his old hunting knife clutched tightly in his other hand. He sheathed it once more, and let his hand move to his nose to rub over the old scar. It tingled with the fading remnants of his dream. 

He took his time to remind himself he was alone, in the dark, and in his canvas tent set in the birch forest near Riften. Far away from the luxury of The Count's Arms and the Gold Coast it rested near. Far from the nightmares buried there.

Decidedly, Daemon peeked out the tent, noting that the sun won't be rising for another few hours. Daemon didn't feel ready to go back to sleep. Not with the nightmares still lurking there. However, the Bee and Barb would still be open. He could waste away the remainder of the night there.

It didn't take long to pack up his things. What little he did own, was mostly already in his bag. He rolled up his sleep roll, and then quickly dismantled the tent. He slung everything onto his back and made for the city.

****

With a few extra coins in their purses, the guards didn't concern themselves with things like curfew. Daemon suspected with just a few more, they would have opened the gates for him themselves.

The Bee and Barb was still surprisingly busy, its various patrons milling about as if it wasn't some gods-awful time in the middle of the night.

Daemon approached the bar, ordering the strongest thing he could get his hands on. He slid a few septims across the bar’s polished surface and turned to the sea of tables and chairs.

He chose a table nearer the corner, the one actually in the corner already taken by a rather large and rough individual. Daemon gave the fellow Imperial a nod and received a slight tilt of the head in return. It was nice to see a fellow mercenary on occasion.

He turned on his drink. He should have drunk slowly, but the memories of his nightmare were still fresh on his mind. It didn’t take long for him to finish the bottle and start another. And another.

Regardless of his continued coin, Daemon was eventually cut off by the innkeeper - out of kindness to his liver, or for the sake of the inn's floors was up to Daemon's imagination.

He staggered out into the grey of dawn, shadows still deep from the tall, surrounding buildings.

"Daemon? Is it really you?"

A chill ran up his spine. It shouldn’t have been possible.  _ He _ was dead. Jonan was supposed to be dead. Or so Daemon thought.

“I missed you.”

The vampire rushed him, slamming him up against the alleyway's brick wall. The force of it made Daemon cough, and his hands rose to pry at the arm pressing tight into his throat. 

When his hands failed to move his attacker, he kicked out with a leg, only for his ankle was caught in an icy grip. Undeterred, he tried with his other, this time successfully knocking back the vampire.

He landed awkwardly on his feet when the vampire released him but righted himself quickly. Daemon's hands moved for the hunting knife tucked into his tunic, but his actions had been slowed by the alcohol in his system. He was stopped by ice-cold hands suddenly gripping his wrists. 

"Did you miss me?" asked the vampire. The vampire bent in towards Daemon's face and easily captured his lips. A sting, and a familiar wetness trickled down his chin. The vampire retreated to lick the line of blood from its lips. Its once emerald-green eyes flared red and Daemon felt his legs turn soft, his head heavy. "Sleep, Daemon."

Daemon couldn't resist obeying.


	2. Sleeping with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very-dubious consent and Blood as lube warnings apply this chapter. Next chapter will be posted tomorrow.

Jonan caught Daemon as he fell, the man's blade clattering from unconscious fingers. Daemon was always adorable when he slept. A sort of childish softness about his face as he was lost to whatever dream he was having. Even now, with the faintest of lines around his face where there used to be none. Jonan was pleased. A surprise, but a pleasant one at that. It meant that Daemon had survived. That Daemon could still be his despite the years apart.

He hefted the man over his shoulder, a feat only possible with his vampiric strength, and departed back to the shadows where he had come from.

****

Safe from the sun's early, scalding rays in his lair, he took his time stripping Daemon. His fingers stopped over every mark, every scar he hadn't been there to heal. Jonan kissed them. Each and every one. He had to make these his. He had to own them, just as he had to own everything else about Daemon. His only Dae-light - something said once in jest, now entirely too truthful with Jonan's revival as a member of the undead.

When he had finished, he ran his fingers gingerly over the scar on Daemon's nose. The visible, accidental brand Jonan had left on him. The other, he hoped, still stained Daemon's heart, making him completely unforgettable to the man. 

His fingers rose to touch his own brand. The life-ending scar on his neck left there by Daemon in return. Jonan had been surprised then. He had forgotten that in all of Daemon's gentleness, that there lived a beast. One that lived behind those golden eyes. One that only Jonan could truly hope to tame.

The light clink of the chains about Daemon's wrists and ankles announced his waking. And, Jonan moved to sit patiently at the end of the bed, waiting until those sun-colored eyes fell on him again. "Daemon," he whispered softly as he used to. "Daemon. It's time to wake up…"

Golden eyes, still glazed with sleep, started opening slowly. When their eyes met, Daemon fully woke immediately. He yanked on his binds, the thick chains pulling taut with a harsh sound. There rose a growl in the man's throat.

 _From the beast,_ Jonan supposed, as his hand fell to the nearest manacle. His touch was gentle, but it was as if he had burned Daemon. The man flinched, pulling his leg away as far as he possibly could from where his ankle had been chained to the bedpost.

Those golden-eyes focused on him, the mind behind them, analyzing him closely. He could tell Daemon recognized him, but the man was refusing to admit the possibility. It had been Five years since Daemon had killed him. Five years since Daemon had buried him in the earth.

Jonan could hear the rapid pace of Daemon's heart. The steady thrum of blood coursing through his veins. It reminded Jonan that he hadn't fed. Not truly. His hunger curled in his belly. An ever demanding, wanting thing. But, he wouldn't dare drink Daemon empty. He couldn’t risk the endless nights without him, ever again.

"Good morning, Daemon." His voice caused another wave of uncertainty to wash over the man. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Daemon remained quiet, but his hands were not so idle. Jonan could see them clenching and unclenching. He could hear the tendons in Daemon's wrists working. The man was trying to see just how easily he could slip his bonds. Just as Jonan taught him. Just as Jonan was taught by his Justiciar. But, Jonan had made sure Daemon could not slip these.

"Maybe not then…" He rose from the edge of the bed, the mattress bouncing up slightly. There were still some things he needed to do, and it was clear that Daemon had not suffered any serious repercussions from Jonan's vampiric seduction spell.

"How…?" came Daemon's rough voice as Jonan stood in the doorway to his private chambers.

Jonan touched the scar on his neck. _'How are you still alive?'_ Daemon had asked in as many words as he thought he needed. _Efficient as always,_ Jonan thought with a small smile. _His killing had been even moreso._ "My… master thought my abilities shouldn't go to waste. He apparently had been rather fond of my work."

"Your healing?"

Again, Jonan smiled, this time more somber. There was so much Daemon still didn't know about him. A world the man had only just glimpsed when Jonan had tried, perhaps a little too eager, to pull him into.

"It was more of my side job that he was interested in." The one he had actually enjoyed. The one that had attracted Molag Bal's apparent attention. "Rest a bit longer, Daemon. We have all the time in the world to be together now." He left, locking the door behind him, his steps accompanied by the fading of sudden rattling chains behind him. 

_Daemon certainly still had his vigor._

* * *

Daemon rattled his chains as soon as Jonan left, more out of a trapped frustration than on any hope he could get free. He had considered dislocating his thumbs to slip his wrists free. _But, then what?_ He would have to set the joints again, and his ankles would remain shackled regardless of the pain involved in freeing his hands. Jonan also hadn't been foolish enough to leave anything close to the bed that he could pick the locks with. 

_Jonan…_

His fists clenched. It was a surreal feeling seeing the mer again. He had buried him with his own hands, yet he had been there. Moments ago. Solid, and of flesh and blood. But, Jonan had changed- was changed. His eyes, once meadow green, a deep hunter’s crimson. His deep-golden skin was closer to the pale yellow of parchment, and he was so, so cold. Daemon remembered the touch of ice, the flash of fangs biting into his bottom lip.

But, deep down Daemon knew the monster that had licked his blood from its lips. It wore the same satisfied smile that was burned into his memory five years ago. This was Jonan. The monster that he was, finally laid bare for all to see. 

_But why didn't Jonan just kill him? Why continue this charade as if nothing had happened?_

Daemon hadn't imagined it. The pale scar on Jonan's throat was proof of their shared past.

_Yet why?_

Jonan's behavior confused him.

His brow furrowed. There was too much to think about, and his head fell back to the pillow puffed beneath his head. It smelled like Jonan, pulling unnecessary memories to the surface of his mind.

He tried to shut his eyes against them, but they chased him like rabid hounds. Playing back everything between them. The countless hours in each other's arms and company.

Opening his eyes didn't help either. He recognized trinkets scattered here and there amid stacks of thick books, on shelves set into the stone wall.

A crude, whittled statue of a bear - Jonan at the time, having been far less experienced when Daemon tried to teach him. Beside it was a far more skillfully carved hawk, almost life-like with amber stones set into its eye-sockets, showing significant improvement in the time since the first carving. Daemon's mind wandered to the hours Jonan would have spent perfecting a craft the mer had thought initially to be a bore.

A growl worked its way to the back of his throat, and he forced his eyes closed. Jonan had drawn his blade on Daemon first. Had chosen to end their relationship first. Daemon had been only defending himself. He hadn’t meant- He hadn't expected Jonan to return. 

But, then… He wasn't sure his Jonan ever had.

* * *

Jonan inspected his front. He had gotten blood splashed up the front of his charcoal doublet. Blood that had been barely worth drinking.

He pulled it from his body and tossed it to a mindless thrall for cleaning. His sore mood only lessened as he approached the door to his bed-chamber, approached the door his Dae-light was locked behind, like a sacred treasure.

_Daemon._

How lucky had Jonan been to find him again? To find him, and even be able to take him. The beast temporarily subdued by the alcohol in Daemon's veins. Jonan had indeed been blessed.

He pushed the door open. It slid easily on soundless hinges. Jonan was greeted by the sight of Daemon, glaring daggers at him.

_Such fierce eyes._

Jonan watched as those golden eyes followed him across the room. They followed him even as he disappeared behind the folding screen set in the corner of the room.

He shed his pants, his loincloth. He was as bare as the day he was reborn.

Hesitantly, he bent for his locked chest. Inside its depths was the thing he was looking for, buried beneath its protections of his other clothing.

A silken, chiffon-lace nightgown in a satin safflower color. Jonan dug it out from its hiding place, remembering the day Daemon had bought it for him. 

_'I thought it would suit you…'_ the man had said, offering a brown-paper wrapped package, and unable to make eye contact. _'You don't have to wear it.'_

_Oh, but Jonan had to wear it…_

Daemon had shared, on a night of a few too many drinks, that he was saving for an island all of his own. Somewhere off the Gold Coast. Somewhere warm to retire and grow fat on fish. _'Together'_ , Daemon had added quietly, likely hoping Jonan hadn't heard in the surrounding commotion of the tavern they had been in at the time. On the meager soldier’s wages, Daemon was earning, it was a faraway dream. Even farther with the purchase of the expensive nightwear. Daemon had made the garment priceless, regardless of the entirety of Jonan's inherited wealth.

The smooth, translucent silk slipped easily over his body, covering his long torso, just barely brushing his mid-upper thighs. Jonan remembered when he had first put it on for Daemon, and the immediate realization on the man's face that it was far too short for the mer. Jonan had laughed then and rolled into bed with Daemon. Short nightgown or not. It didn't matter. It had been the thought that counted.

Jonan loved Daemon then and even loved him now. Moreso now. The long years apart, the long years thinking Daemon must have died without Jonan's healing. _For how else had the man disappeared? Or, as he had thought then._ But, Daemon had survived and had even come back to him. Jonan's silent heart could have skipped a beat.

He prowled to the end of his bed. Those golden eyes never wavering from their presence on him. Only when Jonan revealed the short dagger in his hand, did those eyes flick away from him and to the blade, but even that had been for a second.

Jonan had Daemon's complete attention.

Save for a slight ring of red around his ankles and wrists, Daemon was exactly how Jonan had left him. Splayed out like an offering for a god, because only a god could truly give Daemon exactly what he needed.

His hands smoothed out the wrinkles in the white sheets, his expression fond.

Fortunately for Daemon, Jonan was that god, and Jonan was eager for this sacrifice of flesh… of blood.

The dagger bit easily into the side of Daemon's lower calf, earning another rattle of chains as the man tried to pull away, but Jonan held his leg tightly. It wouldn't do if Daemon moved. He'd end up wasting that precious blood of his.

Jonan lowered his lips to the wound, his hand applying just enough strength to stop Daemon from jerking away again; if he didn’t try to be careful, Jonan might end up breaking the limb instead. He lapped at the jeweled crimson sliding down Daemon's olive-toned skin, then suckled. Jonan remained cautious enough to keep his fangs retracted, to reduce the chance of drinking too much, as his saliva rapidly healed the injury. To leave only smooth skin behind.

Every drop of Daemon's blood rang with the man's essence, with his soul. It filled Jonan with an addictive bliss unattainable otherwise. It reawakened his earlier sated hunger.

Greedily, Jonan moved higher, making another incision. This time, along Daemon's upper calf. 

The man hissed but otherwise remained silent and stationary. There wasn’t much he could do otherwise. It also meant that Jonan didn't have to hold Daemon so tightly. Allowing him instead, to have his hands roaming over Daemon’s memorized flesh, massaging away aches and old pains with the barest of restoration magic.

A good sacrifice deserved some reward after all.

Jonan lapped and sucked, drinking until the wound healed. But, even with that, he was still hungry. His need drove him higher, this time to Daemon's inner thigh. The skin was softer there. Paler. Untouched. Unmarred. Jonan drew his blade to ruin its perfection. The cut was deeper, messier than Jonan’s work before. 

He had let his hunger temporarily rule his hand.

Apologetic, he kissed the gash. Laving it with attention. Being careful to not let any blood ruin the crisp white sheets set below them. 

Daemon's length twitched in interest by his head, even as the man continued to flinch with Jonan's close attentions.

 _Soon,_ Jonan promised it. _Soon._

Like the others before it, the wound healed, sealing that crimson wine once more in its skin casket. Jonan kissed the pale flesh, his lips feeling the steady rush buried beneath, his fangs itching with a need he wouldn't dare sate on Daemon's flesh. 

His hand trailed lower to briefly touch himself, breathing deeply of Daemon's musk, of the hard years worn into it. Leather, sweat, blood. It stained the man. It stained his soul. They were so similar, but Daemon kept his beast sealed. Refused to let it hunt.

_A shame._

Jonan's blade flicked up Daemon's length, just enough to wet Daemon's member for its coming passage. 

The man, however, no longer had any intention of staying still. He bucked, stomach muscles contracting, arms trying to pull free from tight bonds. "Jonan!" Daemon snarled, finally breaking whatever vow of silence he was under at the most recent blessing of Jonan's knife.

"Just for today, Daemon. I promise I'll buy oil next time. I just didn't know I'd be seeing you again," Jonan assured him, using his hand to further coat Daemon's cock with the blood. The smell of it mixing with the pearly white spreading from Daemon's flushed head was intoxicating. 

Jonan raised up on his knees to appraise his work. A pillar of red and milky white. And, despite his protests, Daemon was still hard. Daemon still wanted him. 

The beast growled in protest, prodded from its sleep by the pain on the man's face.

"There was no one else. It had to be you. It has to be you."

Jonan lowered himself to his throne, to impale himself on Daemon's god slaying spear. To be undone and made mortal, however temporary. Jonan bit his lip, feeling himself stretch and be split. "Daemon," he gasped, finally, finally feeling full. "Daemon."

Daemon's body was hot against the persistent chill of Jonan’s own. Daemon was heating Jonan from the inside out. Far hotter than Jonan's own desire that would consume him night after lonely night. Nights that would never need to be lonely again.

Jonan found a steady rhythm, knees on either side of Daemon's hot, sun-touched body, Jonan's hands pressing lightly against the man's hardened belly. A rolling of hips as flesh slid along flesh. Made slick by the ever-present gift in Daemon's veins.

Beneath Jonan, his sacrifice writhed against his bonds. Mind fighting body against pleasure. Pleasure of pain. Pleasure of Jonan's own tightness around Daemon's cock. But, he knew Daemon's body. He would help the body win over that stubborn mind. He would have Daemon undone as Jonan had been made undone.

Jonan rode Daemon fiercely, chasing the temporary relief from his hunger with fervor. Then, he slowed, feeling his insides grow hot and even slicker as a sticky wetness dripped from him.

His Dae-light had spent himself. Jonan had succeeded in pleasuring him. He had not forgotten his skill with the lost time.

"Just a little more…" he urged from Daemon. This god had yet to be fully sated. "Just a little more." 

Jonan's insides squeezed around Daemon's softening member, urging it to remain harder for just a while longer. To continue feeding Jonan's hunger for just a while longer.

"Just a little more, my Dae-light." Jonan knew he was close, so very close to his own release. His fingernails curled into Daemon’s sides, his thumbs pressing hard indents into Daemon’s belly. Jonan exhaled on a downward stroke, striking that delightful part inside of him on Daemon’s shaft.

Jonan’s climax had his spine arching back, his fingers digging shallow wounds into Daemon’s sides. His own cock jumped, but it no longer had seed to offer the undead. _At least, there would be less mess to clean up,_ thought Jonan with a slight chuckle. He raised his fingers to his lips and licked the crimson traces from them.

It took several beautiful seconds to settle from his euphoria before his eyes fluttered back to the elegantly tall potion vial. Jonan might have been unprepared for this wondrous night of union, but he always kept a Potion of Cure Disease on hand. Just in case.

He was glad for it. It would guarantee his Dae-light could still be graced by sunlight. Daemon's heart would skip its beat as Jonan loved him, and his blood would always be running through his body to heat him through.

Jonan took the bottle into his hands and uncorked it. He took a small swig to ensure its taste, before taking up Daemon's lips. The man kept his mouth firmly shut, unaware of the aid the potion held. 

_No matter…_

Jonan pinched Daemon's nose, causing the man to eventually take a gulping breath of air. He allowed his Dae-light one breath before tipping the bottle's contents to his bruised lips and ensuring Daemon swallowed.

At first, Daemon fought it, choking and spitting the bottle's contents, but at Jonan's careful insistence he began to drink. Every. Last. Drop.

His Dae-light would remain mortal. His Dae-light would never have to face the fear of the sun or a hunger that was never sated longer than an hour. His Dae-light would remain his.

_Not even Molag Bal could have him…_

Satisfied that Daemon had drunk everything, Jonan sat back, his fingers leaving Daemon's nose.

Daemon's fists clenched around the chains holding his wrists. His eyes burned a suppressed, deep hatred, the beast wanting to kill behind them.

Jonan decided it was time the beast would get some exercise too. It was only right after having to remain so docile as the man was pleasured to excess, body still trembling with residual ecstasy from his release.

_But, not just yet…_

"Daemon," he said gently.

Daemon’s breathing hitched, an attempt to swallow his panting, the rapid rising of his chest. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.

Jonan pressed up against Daemon to whisper in his ear. "I love you." His teeth nipped lightly on Daemon’s earlobe, careful not to puncture. They tugged on the soft flesh as his body twined around Daemon, an arm draping across the man's chest as a leg wrapped around Daemon's in turn. It was warm. It reminded him of… sunlight on his skin - before the sun would cause his flesh to burn. "My Dae-light…"


	3. Underground Daylight

"It'll only be for a little while, Daemon," Jonan said as he locked the door to the dungeon cell. "Just stay in the back. The others tend to go for the ones standing in the front."

It was then that Daemon noticed the other… human's locked in with him. They were standing motionless, staring with empty eyes at Jonan. They looked no different than dolls. It was eerie. It felt very wrong.

 _Thralls…_ his mind supplied. This was where the vampires kept their… cattle. He wondered why he retained his mind. Why Jonan hadn't just made him as docile as the others packed in with him. He didn't ask Jonan. He just remained silent, his gaze hard and calculating. 

He watched as Jonan locked the iron-barred cage. He watched as Jonan made his way slowly up the winding stone steps out of the dungeon. He watched as the vampire closed the heavy door, and listened as the lock on that was turned and bolted.

****

Thralls, he realized, were classified differently. Not all lived in chains… behind bars. The smaller ones, less ideal for… feeding he supposed, were servants. Rather well dressed and fed servants, that retained some semblance of thought, though it appeared that they tended to wear whatever fineries their particular vampire master chose for them. Some vampires seemed partial to dressing their slaves in purple. Others a deep forest green. Black was an ever-popular choice, but only one vampire seemed to have their thralls dressed in crisp, white clothing, gold embellishments, and yellow trim.

It looked like a nightmare to keep clean in this place of constant bloodshed.

The thralls dressed in white would come down to the dungeons, give the cage he was in a cursory look over, then set more fuel in the brazier that offered little warmth against the constant cold of the surrounding stone and iron. They seemed unused to the task, as if the brazier had merely been a forgotten decoration rather than the functioning pit of fire that it was. 

Daemon couldn't remember if it had been lit before Jonan dragged him down here. It felt like he had been down here too long.

The thralls considered below those were more like slaves, malnourished dogs that were offered abuse when their master was in need of entertainment. They toiled hard, and their bodies were often covered in grime and all sorts of gore. Enough that it was difficult to tell if it was their own blood or some hapless victim they helped drag in. Daemon only saw one or two of these types, and each time it was to lock up someone else. Someone made docile and compliant. Someone made mindless, like every other he had been locked up with.

These, the ones standing with him, were treated no differently than food for his captors. They remained empty and quiet, only faintly moaning as hunger tore through their bellies. They were easily replaced by more. A beggar. A thief. Generally, those that would not go missed from the world above this nightmare.

_Apparently, Daemon had been one of them…_

He was left there for hours, possibly days, though it was hard to tell without any semblance of the passing of time. Each hour blended into the next, broken up only by the daily dousings of cold water that chilled him to the bones. He supposed it was to help keep them clean, to keep the smell of them low as many would just defecate where they stood.

Daemon's first hope of escaping this nightmare came as a waylaid piece of timber for the constant burning brazier. He reached through the bars, stretching and urging his fingers those extra few inches towards it. They brushed against the wood but weren't close enough to grab it. He tried again, this time sending it rolling slightly, but in the wrong direction. He felt his hope dwindle, only to have it rejuvenate as it rolled back due to the slope of the floor. He grabbed it before it could roll back again.

It wasn't a weapon… yet, but with some work, he was certain he could fashion something out of the stick. It would just take some time, and apparently, he had lots of it.

At first, he grew disheartened. There was nothing obvious to shape with. No knives, blades, whatever else have you. Then he realized the floor the cage was set on. Cobblestone. He rubbed the stick over the heaved rock encouraging the wood to catch on every uneven jag and rough patch. It took longer than he expected, and he had to frantically shuffle to his feet every time the overhead door opened, hoping no one noticed his rapid heartbeat in the process.

None of the thralls did, but he did eventually catch the attention of a vampire that came to personally choose her latest prey.

"You're new…" said the vampire crossing her arms under her chest. She didn't seem to be expecting an answer but stating a simple fact. 

He kept his eyes unfocused, but his fingers around his makeshift weapon tightened. The vampire didn't notice.

"Though, I would hardly think you are feeding stock. Who did you offend to be locked in here?" Her hungry gaze danced over his body, seemingly disappointed by the tattered rags clinging to his legs like the other people caged with him. The key in her hands went to the lock, and he had to force himself not to watch. To not look eager. "Or, does your blood just taste that good?" She licked her lips as the key slid into the lock with a loud clunk.

The thralls didn't move as the cage was opened, nor did they seem to notice it had been opened. They were too busy trapped in the torment of their own bodies.

The vampire shoved the others aside to make her way over to him. To stand before him, nearly within arms reach, nearly close enough to deal with.

He could see her clearer then, the sight of red flecks permanently dying her teeth.

Unlike Jonan, it was clear she made no effort to hide what she was from Daemon. Or, what fate lay in store for him.

It made his next move easier.

He stabbed the wooden stake up into her jaw. And, in an explosion of blackened blood, its tip popped out of her mouth. The vampire howled, the sound wet, and garbled. Daemon pulled it free, and stabbed her again, this time plunging it deep into her chest.

"You bashar!" she shrieked, finally drawing the attention of the nearest thrall, some sickly man, made hollow by continuous feedings. He grabbed at Daemon, trying to halt his attack, but Daemon kicked the man away to tumble into some equally thin woman. "You bashard!" the vampire shrieked again, taking advantage of Daemon's distraction to rip into his chest with her claws.

The vampire's shrieks drew the attention of yet more thralls and they all turned on Daemon, grabbing at his limbs to hold for their offended mistress. He fended several off with well-aimed kicks and punches, but it was inevitable that he would be overwhelmed in such close quarters. 

He smashed his head back into the one holding him around his upper torso, drawing a stream of fresh blood as he broke the thrall's nose. The woman's grip loosened enough for him to claw out the eyeball of another holding onto one of his arms. 

Through the whole mess, the vampire retreated, her hand clutching her chin as the thick, black liquid gushed from her earlier injury.

But, Daemon couldn't let her escape. Not with his freedom contained in the iron key tied around her neck by a loose, braided cord of leather.

He launched at her, stomping the head of some tripped thrall from the skirmish in the process. His hand closed around the wooden stake still left in her chest, likely intentionally to staunch the bleeding. A mistake on the vampire's part.

Daemon yanked the stake free and then stabbed her again despite her screams in his ears, and claws tearing up his arms and drawing deep ragged lines. Blood pooled and spilled from his flesh. He stabbed her again, and again, and again, pain twisting her once bewitching features, and breaking the temporary sway she had over the crowd. 

The thralls did nothing this time as Daemon killed their mistress. Nothing, save but shuffle mindlessly away when he fell astride her in his fury and they both tumbled to the ground. Their earlier obedience was all but forgotten.

Bloodlust rising, he roared as his blood pounded in his ears. His nerves twitched, willing his arms to move and kill. Kill. Kill. _Kill._

Finally, the vampire lay still. Her chest turned into a hollowed-out cavern, her screams and curses long since extinguished. His own chest heaved with his heavy breaths and his body shook. Blood continued to run down his arms and torso in rivers, but despite it all, he felt… good. Excited and invigorated.

Daemon grit his teeth and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He quickly snatched the key from the leather string around the vampire’s neck, hoping it would also open the heavy door that led out as he saw no other key being used. 

His nerves continued to twitch as he made his escape. None of the surviving thralls made any indication they were aware of their brutally reclaimed freedom.

_Aidona and her rabbit. Aidona and her rabbit._

He repeated the mantra in his head as he traveled quickly and silently up the dungeon steps.

_Aidona and her rabbit._

Daemon could feel his bloodlust lesson, his nerves becoming less twitchy. 

He had been twelve. Raised by the town’s local butcher and already immune to death. He had enjoyed helping his father, but even more so, he enjoyed the work, the feel of another's life ending in his hands. That was, until Aidona's rabbit.

He hadn't known. 

He had just been pointed to the animals that were lined up for slaughter that day. A few old chickens that couldn't lay eggs anymore, a pig, a goat, and a rabbit. Daemon didn't know that the rabbit had been mixed into the pile by accident. Hunters offered their wild game all the time for butchering. It seemed no different. All Daemon knew was his butcher's knife raising and falling to the squirming creature's throat, a harsh scream punctuating the act.

His parents assured him it was fine. Accidents happened. Aidona would get a new rabbit. 

But, none of those assurances helped him. None helped because he had enjoyed the kill, taken pleasure in it right until the scream and the look of hatred and terror on the girl's face as he killed her friend. To her, it hadn't just been a rabbit.

He knew he couldn't help in his father's butcher shop after that. Not killing the animals at least. No matter how his nerves twitched. He didn't want another accident.

Daemon enlisted when he was sixteen. He hoped the discipline drilled into him would help. It did. To a point. His superiors would tell him who their enemy was. There were no more mistakes. Their enemy needed death and Daemon was good at granting it. Swift. Painless.

But, for those eight years, it only subdued the thing inside. In the end, it had killed Jonan. 

Another accident. One he had to bury with his own hands. 

He left then. Became a mercenary. A jack-of-all-trades at times. He became good at that as well. There were no more accidents. No more need to kill unless he absolutely had to.

He continued up the stone steps.

 _Aidona and her rabbit._ _Aidona and her-_

His muscles tensed and he rushed forward. The wooden shiv he had fashioned struck out ahead of him towards the figure at the top. He caught himself before his weapon sank into the throat of the vampire. Into Jonan's throat. 

Again.

Jonan frowned, his eyes moving to the sharpened wood. He seemed almost disappointed that Daemon had stopped, that Daemon hadn't gone through with killing him - or at least trying to kill him.

Jonan's crimson eyes trailed behind Daemon, to the other nameless vampire that had attacked him. To the one lying face-up in a pool of its own crimson gore. Jonan smiled then. A sort of parental pride that sickened Daemon. 

Jonan had planned this. He had purposefully left him with his mind, had left the tools needed to fashion a weapon. Had been likely just waiting at the dungeon's entrance for Daemon to try and escape through it.

Daemon's eyes narrowed. "Move, Jonan."

Jonan didn't move. He didn't even acknowledge that Daemon had said anything. "Did you enjoy your exercise?" Jonan asked softly, a certain darkness creeping into his grin and eyes.

"No," Daemon spat, his shoulders pulling forward despite the fresh pain the action brought. He felt dirty, and he knew Jonan's eyes could see through him.

Firm, but gentle, fingers teased his shiv away. Daemon resisted, but eventually, his weapon was taken. "It's time to go back."

"I'm leaving," insisted Daemon, his body tensing to fight the vampire in front of him.

"It wasn't an option, Daemon." The vampire before him, appraised him slowly, though Daemon wasn't sure what was left to appraise. Jonan had already seen everything. If anything, he was lesser now. Broken and hungry. Fast movement made his head spin, his nerves twitch-

_Aidona and her rabbit._

"I'm leaving," he reiterated.

Jonan's smile faded. "No, Daemon. You are never leaving me. Never again."

Daemon took a step back. The vampire's eyes flashed red, and Daemon quickly averted his gaze. He wouldn't be caught again so easily. "I can't stay here…"

"That's why we are returning. I only needed some time to arrange things for your permanence." The glow disappeared from the vampire's eyes as he relaxed, grew momentarily distracted. "You needn't stay here."

Daemon took the fleeting opportunity to strike out. The full weight of his body behind his fist aimed for Jonan's jaw. With luck, the impact would knock Jonan out. With less, at least it would stun the vampire for a few seconds.

Instead, Jonan caught his swing, Daemon's fist suddenly trapped in a vise-like grip. Jonan squeezed, sending sparks of pain rocketing up Daemon's arm. He squeezed tighter, causing Daemon's bones to creak. 

Daemon winced, the force on his hand weakening his knees. He fell to the stone, his knees smacking hard into the stairs. A groan was pulled from his lips, clipping tightly to a hiss as Jonan's grip refused to abate.

The vampire bore him no pity, even as tears stained the corner of Daemon's eyes. That became apparently clear when a loud crack broke the straining silence. 

Daemon screamed as the bones in his hand were splintered.

And, only then did the vampire release his hold. Jonan knelt in front of Daemon, soft assurances on his lips as his hands began to glow with warm light. The agony of Daemon's hand faded. "You are much too fragile, Daemon. If I can break your hand with barely a thought, it would be far too easy for someone else to kill you. They would take you away from me forever. I couldn't survive that again."

The memory of the pain of his broken hand still had Daemon gasping slightly. He flinched from the light hand coming to cradle his cheek. "Sleep, my Dae-light. Everything will be better when you wake up…"

Daemon fought the exhaustion worming its way into his mind. He knew it to be false, that it was some spell Jonan was casting over him. He couldn't fall asleep. He couldn…


	4. From the Frying Pan to the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left \o/

Daemon snapped awake. His eyes opened to a stone ceiling and the slight tilt of his head revealed a wall of heavy iron bars, separating him from the rest of the room… the rest of Jonan's room. 

Daemon had been caged.

He sat up, the cot that had been laid out for him, creaking slightly under his shifting weight and drawing Jonan's attention away from the bookcase his finger had been scanning through.

Jonan's eyes seemed to brighten when he saw Daemon awake. "You're awake. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"I'm…" _naked. Again._ Daemon's eyes considered his healed body. He hadn't even been left the ragged pants of his thrall disguise that Jonan had given him earlier.

His hesitancy to answer drew the vampire closer. "Does it still hurt?" Jonan seemed genuinely worried, his ruby eyes darting over the hand he had so easily fractured earlier. "I had thought I healed everything properly. If I haven't…" 

Daemon's own eyes fell to his hand. He cradled it in his other, thumb tracing over his palm. It didn't hurt anymore, but the memory was a different thing. "It's… fine," he said.

Jonan continued to look unsure, his expression almost reminiscent of his long-gone years of innocent mortality. It made Daemon's heart hurt, the organ longing for the time they shared in a better place. A… sunnier place than this underground house of screams and monsters.

"Why am I naked?" Daemon asked instead, noticing now that Jonan wasn't wearing much more himself: just the translucent nightgown. 

His question caught Jonan by surprise, but the vampire's expression relaxed quickly after the initial shock wore off. "You've never been shy with me before, Daemon."

Daemon internally agreed, but there was something about being so bare to a vampire that kept him at unease. He felt vulnerable, and in desperate need of the assurance of his armor.

This time, Jonan didn't notice Daemon's thoughts drifting, or if the vampire did, he didn't care to show it. "Besides, I've always liked you better like this."

In the days of summer light and long-lost innocence of youth, Daemon would have smiled. He would have grinned stupidly at his lover and dragged Jonan into bed. He would have smothered him in kisses and grossly soppy words. 

But, that was a long time ago.

Now, Daemon was more inclined to silence, to holding his hand as he recalled just how easy it had been for Jonan to cripple him. It had been like breathing to Jonan, and that cruelty wouldn't have stemmed purely from his new identity as an undead.

The scar across Daemon's nose begun to itch. Another painful reminder. _How long had Jonan been like… like this? Was Daemon just that blind? That desperate to be loved?_ He knew the answer, and his head hung lower. _Yes. Yes, he was that desperate._ Daemon had thought he had hardened his heart, but it was as weak as it had always been.

"Daemon?" The vampire tilted his head. Despite everything, the vampire seemed confused about Daemon's silence. It was almost as if Jonan acted as if they had never been apart. That Daemon had never killed Jonan.

It was nearly maddening. "Why are you doing this?" Daemon snapped at him.

Jonan unlocked Daemon's cage and entered to sit in a wooden chair opposite of the cot. "Why? For you, Daemon. Everything is for you." Jonan was staring at him with those eyes again. Those eyes Daemon had fallen for. Full of nothing but adoration, but now it felt… wrong. Tainted by something he couldn't quite place.

"This is wrong, Jonan." He shook his head, then looked up. "I killed you."

"An accident, my Dae-light. As I have accidentally scarred you…" Jonan reached to brush his fingers across the scar on Daemon's nose. Jonan's touch was light and feathery, as all his touches were. "An accident…"

A sudden chill, one not brought on by the walls of stone. An accident with a knife doesn't happen in bed. Doesn't happen in the early hours of the morning before he had a chance to wake up. A painful curiosity had Daemon asking, "What were you trying to do?"

Jonan's eyes turned glossy with a remembered excitement. "I was trying to maim your shoulder. Just a quick snip and you'd lose the use of your left arm. You are right-handed after all."

Daemon's blood ran cold. Now he needed to know even as his next words had to be forced from his lips. "Why?"

"So you'd get permanent leave! You did say you wanted to stay with me." Jonan said those words so exuberantly, it was plain to see he had seen nothing wrong with his reasoning. Jonan moved closer to cradle Daemon's head between his delicately long fingers. He stroked a hand caringly through Daemon's short-cropped hair. "Injured while protecting the Dominion's renowned healer. I had everything arranged, Daemon. I would have taken care of you. We could have retired together to your island." 

The hand still on Daemon's cheek suddenly felt more like a cage than the bars already containing him. He swallowed thickly, though this time, no words came.

"Everything that happened was just an accident. A minor setback. But, now you're here with me again. I'm sorry it took so long." Jonan looked truly apologetic, and Daemon supposed that was why the vampire's words were all the more terrifying.

The door to the room opened and a white-and-gold clad thrall entered. The small elven woman placed what looked like white cloth at the foot of Jonan's large double bed, and set down some pins and a tape measure.

The Bosmer turned and waited expectantly without saying a word.

"Ah. It's time for your measurements, Daemon."

The vampire stood and gave enough space for Daemon to do the same. Jonan was expecting Daemon to do the same, and it was becoming obvious that disobeying was not going to be tolerated for long.

Daemon continued sitting just a touch longer than Jonan wanted, earning a tight squeeze on his shoulder and a faltered smile.

Jonan led him from the cage and the Bosmer thrall stepped forward with the cloth and pins to begin a quick series of marks and pinnings to get Daemon's shape. Jonan watched the entire proceeding with intense focus as if he were measuring Daemon himself.

He likely was.

The woman disappeared as soon as she finished, the entire process going faster than Daemon had thought it should have - but then again, he never had anything made for him.

"A tailor," Jonan said as if answering his curiosity. "Her skills were far beyond the bed warming another had decided for her. I made sure to… correct the error."

Daemon made a quiet sound of acknowledgement as his eyes watched the door swing shut. It didn't lock. Eight steps and he could reach it, though likely not before Jonan could grab him.

"Daemon…" Jonan traced fingers up Daemon's arm. "Daemon…" he said again, his cold body pressing up against Daemon's side. Jonan sounded as if he was unsure, unable to believe Daemon was there beside him.

Daemon couldn't even be sure he was anymore. Everything had been too surreal. A nightmare he couldn't seem to wake from. He stood frozen as Jonan touched him, navigated him to the bed. The only reprieve being that he wasn't chained to it this time and that Jonan was truthful about the future promise of oil. A thin, but tall, glass vial had been set on one of the double nightstands.

He thought _that_ was what awaited him, but he had temporarily forgotten what Jonan was… what Jonan had become.

"Daemon…" Glowing crimson eyes peered at him inquiringly. As if Daemon had some answer to a question that hadn't been asked yet. "I'm so hungry, Daemon. I held myself back as I healed you… but there was just so much blood."

Daemon tried to resist those eyes' allure, their hypnotic gaze, but he found he couldn't. His body was frozen to the spot, eager to please the monster urging him further back on the bed. "Jonan…" he tried as if the name held some power to sway the vampire otherwise.

It didn't.

Sharps fangs grazed his throat, causing his pulse to quicken. Jonan pulled back a hair's breadth and grit his teeth as if regaining some sanity. "My Dae-light…" gasped Jonan, breathing in deeply, his eyes flicking between bliss and a hungry focus.

A tremor traveled through Daemon's body. He recognized that look, though he wished he wasn't on the receiving end of it. It was the look of a predator, and that predator was scenting him. "Jo-"

"Daemon," interrupted Jonan. "Daemon." Jonan's voice devolved to a slight purr as the vampire leaned in again. There was no hesitation this time as fangs brushed against the nape of his neck, to puncture deep then retreat. Soon after, the vampire's lips sealed over the bite, afraid to spill a drop. 

A false euphoria flooded Daemon's system as the vampire suckled his neck like an infant on a teet. _Wrong. Wrong. WRONG!!!_ his mind cried even as his body grew ever more complacent to the floaty sensation of whatever venom Jonan's fangs had left behind. Instinctually, Daemon fought and writhed. He tried desperately to push the vampire away, and with those attempts failing, he tried to retreat. 

But, Jonan's arms curled around him like twin snakes, holding him, stopping his escape. Their bodies became too tightly pressed together for Daemon to muster any strength in his hand that became trapped between them. Fingers carded through his hair as he and Jonan lowered to the pillows.

Daemon tried to resist, tried to and failed. Daemon worked his jaw. Open. Closed. He tried to force a word, any sound through his throat, but everything seemed drawn to that point Jonan had his lips around. Eventually, even that minuscule resistance petered out, his furrowing and unfurrowing brows relaxing, his hands falling back to his side. Only his heart continued to beat its resistance, pounding against the cage of his ribs in a frantic rhythm. 

Jonan hummed his satisfaction, eyes closing in bliss, cheeks an almost drunk rose color. The vampire pulled away. "I'm so happy, Daemon. I can feel you inside me." The vampire breathed deeply again, eyes shutting tight as he put his hands to his cheeks then slid them down to his throat to settle at his belly. "You're so warm. So, perfect. We are so much closer now…"

Daemon supposed those words were supposed to be comforting, but they weren't even close. His heart felt like it was in his ears, a constant throbbing that made his head spin - and not just from the blood loss. 

Jonan only grinned, placing his hand over Daemon's heart. He bent in closer. To whisper in Daemon's ear. "Can you feel yourself inside me?"

Daemon's eyes darted to Jonan's face, a concerned confusion knitting his brows together. He didn- He felt an odd sense of detachment, a stirring like some phantom limb growing fainter, being devoured without pain. It was immensely disturbing, and Daemon wondered what sort of dark ability this was… _Magic, or something else entirely?_ He reached up a hand to Jonan's chest as if he could reclaim that stolen part of himself, but Jonan mistook the action for one of loving.

The vampire's hands rose to cradle Daemon's raised hand, to hold it tightly against his frigid skin. "It was so dark without you, Dae-light." Jonan lifted Daemon's palm to cup a frozen cheek and nuzzled into it longingly. "So dark."

Daemon swallowed around the knot in his throat, and grit his teeth. He had buried his affections along with Jonan the first time. This vampire… was not Jonan. Couldn't be Jonan. There was none of Jonan's gentleness, his kindness. Just a predator's obsession with a meal - an apparently delicious meal. 

But, the vampire's face made that differentiation hard, especially with how vulnerable he currently looked. Daemon blamed his anemia, he blamed the vampire venom still making his heart pound and his cock hard. He thought of every excuse he could to hate the monster using Jonan's skin. He had to, or he would lose everything.

A knock came at the door. Three sharp knocks, then a voice calling, "You are wanted, Master Jonan."

The monster had returned to Jonan's eyes then as he glared at the reinforced, wooden door. Those eyes then flitted briefly back to Daemon, some attempt made to soften their intensity before they accidentally revealed their true nature to him. Though, it was far too late for that. "It appears my skills are needed, Daemon… Wait for me…?"

As drained as Daemon was, he could find no answer. 

Jonan took his silence as whatever made him smile slightly, before scooping Daemon up into his arms. One arm supported Daemon's back as the other tucked into the crook of his knee. 

Any struggle Daemon put against the hold was adjusted for and likely expected, as Jonan carried him towards the cage again.

"It's just for a little while, my Dae-light. This is just so no one else tries to take you away from me." Jonan kissed the top of Daemon's head, before setting him upright into an armchair, adorned with several pillows. Jonan further arranged these to in some way to hold the man in place, and once satisfied, Jonan made his exit.

Weakly, Daemon tried to sit up, tried to urge his way towards the cage door as Jonan locked him inside. A futile effort, as the lock slid home unimpeded and Jonan set the key on the top of a low dresser. The vampire's attention was drawn back to Daemon as he collapsed to the floor with a muted thud.

"Oh, Daemon. You still need some time to recover. I would heal you if I could, but I've never been able to fix blood loss. You know that."

Daemon could barely manage to prop himself up on his elbows. His eyes struggled to focus as his head swam, and his arms trembled. "Going to make… me sleep again?" He made out. A wave of dizziness followed his words closely.

Jonan frowned before tugging the nightgown from his body. He turned towards a large wardrobe to pull a charcoal tunic and dark leather slacks from it. "No. Too often, and I risk making you a thrall. I've already used my ability on you enough." The vampire dressed himself, looking as elegant as he always does. His pale skin looked even paler against the dark wash of his newest outfit. He inspected himself personally, the room lacking a mirror, and seemed satisfied by what he saw. "I worry each time that you won't be behind those eyes when you wake." 

Daemon watched from his position on the floor as Jonan snatched up the key and tucked it into a pocket in his pants. He could feel his hope disappearing as that iron key disappeared from sight, and it would have had hope vanish completely had he not noticed his own travel pack stored in a corner of the room. As a memento or otherwise, he was glad to see it. He just hoped that Jonan wouldn’t realize the same, and subtly shifted his eyes away from it. "How considerate," Daemon said, drawing the vampire's attention away from what he had been staring at earlier, and the escape it could mean if he could get to it.

Jonan stepped back towards the cage. "For you. Always," he assured Daemon, grabbing a pair of freshly polished boots near the foot of his bed in the same motion. He put them on, tucking his slacks into the lip of each boot. "I'll be back soon, my Dae-light."

Daemon said nothing, hoping the vampire would just leave so he could start his plan.

Another frown formed on Jonan's face, and he considered the room. "You'll get used to it. I'm sorry it's not exactly the island you've wanted. But, you'll be well cared for here…"

 _Like some pet…_ Daemon mentally added. _Like some spoiled pet._

"I'll bring back that wine you liked." Jonan's voice had a note of hopeful finality, and Daemon worried if he didn't respond, the vampire would rather stay.

Daemon nodded, then looked away.

He could hear Jonan rise from his crouch and step excitedly out the door, it swinging shut and locking behind him.

It was Daemon's chance, though his body was reluctant to move. Jonan might not have had the intention to drain him completely, but it was sure felt close enough. 

_Move!_ he commanded of his body. _Move!_

Daemon sat up, the small victory what it was worth. He contemplated the distance to his bag, judging that he would need something else to drag it closer. His eyes darted around his furnished cage. A bedsheet. Some books. He had things he could use for a crude grappling hook. His biggest issue would be making sure his body would actually be capable of performing the tasks he required of it.

He ripped the thin sheet into a long strip with his teeth, stopping every so often until the wash of dizziness that threatened to drag him unconscious passed. With the strip in hand, he tied one end around a heavy, but not too heavy, hardcover. Daemon gave the knot a good tug then gave it a few test swings within the confines of his cage.

His accuracy could have been better, but its intended use seemed doable.

Pausing first to regain whatever stamina he could, Daemon moved to the edge of his cage. He slipped his arms through the cage bars and started swinging his makeshift grappling hook in a slow, vertical circle, to slowly work up speed.

Once he deemed it swinging fast enough, he released his grip, making sure his other hand remained tight on the bookless end of the strip of bedcloth.

It sailed through the air and… missed. Disappointed, but not disheartened, Daemon reeled it back in.

The makeshift anchor hooked his bag strap on the fifth try. Daemon tugged slowly, testing to see if it would hold. It did. If he remained careful. He reeled his pack closer to his cage, the book threatening to wiggle free at every slight motion.

 _Come on… just a little more…_ It was so close now. A few more inches and- _There!_ Daemon grabbed the sack's strap before it toppled out of reach and dragged it against the cage bars. It was too bulky to bring in the cage, but with some slight shuffling, he could at least access the side pouch that held a small collection of lockpicks.

It took a few tries with shaky fingers before he managed to pick the cage's lock open. Most of his time had been focusing on every footstep and noise that happened on the room's door. At each sound, he would stop, ears straining to tell him if there was a chance someone was going to enter and catch him. 

He had already shoved a few spare lockpicks under the mattress and into an unsuspecting pillow, but he was still wary should a more severe punishment be awaiting him beyond his tools being confiscated.

Daemon swung the cage open, feeling the first few steps of freedom promised, only to have that feeling fade as the door's pull-ring rattled. He couldn't catch a break. It was as if the gods had abandoned this place and him. 

His eyes quickly darted around the room, eventually landing on the knife Jonan had cut up his thighs with. The ornate thing would have to do.

On adrenaline-fueled fingers, he snatched up the blade and readied himself as the door opened, the vampire's face coming slowly into view.

"Dae-" 

When Daemon hadn't been in the cage, Jonan's expression turned to one of panic, but Daemon hadn't given even that much consideration as his body moved. From his position from behind the opening door, Daemon was in Jonan's blind spot for a few precious seconds that he immediately exploited. 

His dagger bit into Jonan's arm, tearing a huge wound as his cut through flesh and muscle which disabled it. Daemon retreated before striking bone, and then plunged forward again - this time aiming for Jonan's stomach. The blade punctured deep, spraying viscera across Daemon's front and slicking his grip as he drew it across.

He ducked as Jonan recovered from the initial shock and struck out with his usable arm, claws raking the air, where Daemon would have been seconds earlier had the man not switched his target to the vampire's knee. He stabbed the steel between femur and kneecap and twisted, causing the vampire to fall screaming in agony.

Claws raked across Daemon's leg, but they weren't deep enough to stop the man from rushing past the temporarily incapacitated vampire.

Daemon's bare feet slapped the hallway floor. He didn't have much time before Jonan recovered, and he needed every second to even hope to escape far enough.

Every step made his head pound, the loss of blood a constant, heavy weight on his heels. He stumbled around a sharp corner, slamming his shoulder into the next wall in the process. His free hand rose to cradle the scraped and bruised skin, but he could offer it no more attention than that.

He had to keep moving. If Jonan caught him… Daemon was afraid he might never be able to escape again.

A shadowed figure blocked the doorway ahead. Daemon’s grip on Jonan’s dagger was more sure now. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. His arm snaked forward. The blade aiming for the vulnerable space of exposed skin in the figure’s armor.

The blade touched copper-toned flesh. He could feel it connect, the slight give. Seconds before biting into meat. 

A sharp snap. The blade shattered.

_What?! No!_

Inhumane eyes narrowed on him. Black scleras decorated with a ring of red iris each. Daedric, not vampiric. "And, this is the greeting I get when I finally come in person to reclaim my staff?" The Daedra seemed more amused than insulted, its crimson tattoos glowing faintly in the gloom of the hallway. Its eyes danced briefly over his naked form, a thoughtful expression on its face as its gaze eventually found his. “Well, I suppose this isn’t the worst greeting…”

_Who?_

Daemon's stance wavered. His head pounded. He needed to escape. He was losing time-


	5. Daemon's Inner Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but its the last chapter. Thanks to those following this to the end. ^^

"Hey, now!" Sanguine caught the mortal man, disappointed that it wasn't the type of greeting he had initially thought. It wasn't as if his current lesser form was so stunning that it would induce fainting spells. He had a separate one for that.

Rapidly approaching boots drew his attention up, and away from the fainted Imperial he was holding in his arms. A quick testing of the air told him Molag Bal's champion approached.

The vampire lord's eyes were deeply worried, but they lightened upon seeing the Imperial Sanguine held. When they realized Sanguine was holding said man, however, they blackened immediately.

"Those are some eyes, Boy," laughed Sanguine. "But, I really do just want my staff returned."

The vampire lord collected himself quickly, the expression of murder turning far snider. "I sold it. The woman who owned it hadn't been interesting enough to bother with a souvenir. I'm also afraid you might have to find another champion."

Sanguine felt his grip tighten slightly on the Imperial's shoulder, as the vampire lord's quick recollection of the torture he put Sanguine's latest champion through provided such an interesting taste of pleasure. He could see why Molag Bal liked this one. "A shame. I guess it's only fair I take something of yours then."

The vampire lord made a show of not caring. "Of what, _Lord_ Sanguine. Everything I own also belongs to _my_ master."

"I suppose not this one though," Sanguine said cheekily, head inclining towards the Imperial. He pinched the unconscious man’s cheek for extra measure, earning a slight defensive stirring from the vampire lord to confirm his earlier suspicion. He cared not for whatever kind of toy the Imperial was to Molag Bal's rabid dog, but it was a dear one. One that would have to settle for revenge for the loss of his staff, and the inconvenience of losing his champion. "A fair trade if I say so."

Sanguine had to bark a laugh at the absolute rage on the vampire lord's face, even as its body warped to its far more impressive monstrous form.

"Don't. You. Dare," Molag Bal's champion whispered darkly, promising hours of exquisite torture, all of which would be getting the vampire lord off.

"Oh, Darling. As much as I would love to see what you can do, I'm a little short on time. Have to find a new champion now, as you aptly put it." A portal formed beneath him, and the man he held. "Bye-bye." He waved mockingly, blowing a slight kiss, and disappeared to the loudest scream calling for his blood.

_Someone has a bit of an attitude…_

* * *

Daemon expected to wake in chains. Worse, he expected to have his Achilles' tendons snipped, his legs possibly broken - there was no way Jonan would allow a repeat of his escape.

He didn't expect to wake in the forgotten corner of some tavern - intact and still naked, save for the blanket draped over him.

"You're awake," came a voice from the bar.

"Where…?" Daemon asked confused. "What…?"

"My tavern…" the voice answered, sounding slightly distracted.

Daemon's eyes were still having a hard time focusing. "Who…?"

"Sanguine. The loss of blood might be making the intoxication a bit worse… A shame I can't assure you it'll clear up. Because it won't. Not while you're here, at least. And, might I add, you are a rather boring drunk. Slept half the time." 

Daemon still didn't see the source of the voice, just the bar. A bottle was suddenly set on top of it, a copper-toned hand curling around its neck briefly before disappearing again. He suspected the hand's owner was the same owner of the voice. Daemon didn't directly recognize the hand, but he remembered its color and the glowing tattoos that decorated the Daedra's face.

"Bloody bitches! Where do those sods keep the wine glasses!" complained Sanguine. His head poked up first, bronze horns gleaming in whatever magicked light filled the tavern. With nose wrinkling, the Daedra glared accusingly at the bottle, as if it had something to do with the lack of glassware.

Eventually, he uncorked the wine bottle with his teeth and settled on drinking it without a glass. Sanguine took a deep swig, nearly finishing the entire thing before setting it down again on a deep, satisfied sigh.

"Now. What to do with you," the Daedra said, pointing exaggeratedly at Daemon. "I can't make you my new champion until another rose blooms… and… Hey..." Sanguine’s head fell to his propped up hands. He hummed slightly, sniffing the air. He seemed slightly confused. "It's… gone now…"

Daemon shuffled backward so his back was pressed against the wall. He tugged the blanket higher to cover more of himself from Sanguine's leering eyes. "What's gone?"

The Daedra didn't answer him, only stepped around the bar to get closer. To eventually stand before Daemon, somehow naked himself despite the loose clothing Daemon swore the Daedra had been wearing moments earlier. 

Sanguine crowded into Daemon’s space, his face almost pressing nose to nose. He hummed again, his arms stretching to box in Daemon’s head. This time the Daedra took a deeper sniff. "Haaa… My mistake… It's still there… But, just barely." A cruel smile stretched onto his lips as his piercing eyes kept Daemon in place. "Anguish. Self-loathing. Regret… Parts of the cage you have constructed around your pleasure. I know you wish to kill me. You desire my death. It would excite you to steal my last breath. I have seen it in your eyes when we met."

Daemon couldn’t take his eyes away. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. It felt like the Daedra had gotten a grip on his soul, breaking it open and exposing every dark crevice. His teeth grit, and he snarled. “No,” he said.

The Daedra chuckled, the glow of his tattoos fluctuating wildly. “And, it's gone again… You lock it away so tightly. What does your dark ecstasy taste like, I wonder?” His head tilted to the side, and a wicked knife materialized in his hand. "Go on. Take it," the Daedra whispered seductively. "Plunge it into my heart. Kill me, and in return, let me devour your caged pleasure. Let me sate my appetite on what you keep so deeply hidden."

Daemon's hand rose to take it, but he wasn't sure it had been of his own will. The tingle in his nerves had grown to a steady pulse. His tongue dabbed at his lower lip, his fingers close enough to touch the offered blade.

A scream sounded between his ears. The sobbed 'murderer' reminding him of his vow.

_Aidona and her rabbit…_

His hand fell back to his side. The offered dagger going untouched. "No," he repeated. 

A fire lit behind the Daedra's eyes. Interest accompanied by anger at Daemon's denial. "Such a thing…" Sanguine suddenly gripped Daemon's jaw tightly in a hand and forced his head to one side then to the other. He was inspecting him for something. "Someone has tainted your pleasure. I suppose I should fix that for you…" Almost playfully, the Daedra tapped a finger against Daemon's forehead. 

Something slithered its way from Daedra to man as Daemon attempted to flinch away. He could feel something worming its way behind his eyes, but Sanguine refused to let him break the contact between them.

Or so Daemon thought. 

The Daedra's piercing eyes lessened their resolve, the glow behind them slowly dimming. Sanguine let out a dry chuckle. "Seems… like you got lucky…" His grip weakened as the embers behind his eyes extinguished completely and the tattoos on his naked flesh turned to nothing but black ink. 

Daemon shoved Sanguine away, grateful for the halted invasion on his mind. He was surprised at just how easy it was to push the Daedra away though. 

Sanguine's large body fell back with a suspiciously wooden clatter. A wooden puppet lay where the Daedra's body had been, once animated and made flesh, no longer. 

Unsure if someone would be coming to stop him, Daemon took the opportunity to run. 

But, no one did.

Clutching the blanket tightly around his waist, Daemon managed to escape the tavern in its entirety; bursting out its front door, to find the tavern disappeared when he turned around.

****

It took some time to make it to the nearest village. Some small inauspicious place that he managed to steal some clothes left unattended on a drying line. He left the richly embroidered blanket in their place.

In the next village over, he earned a few coins helping to chop wood and run a few errands about town. Enough to earn himself a meal or two and a new dagger in his belt.

He never thought of himself as a knifeman, but the simple blade of iron filled him with the unmistakable comfort of safety. It had been well worth the few septims to purchase.

Daemon ran a few more small jobs, enough to hire a cart to take him where he wanted to go, namely somewhere offering better-paying jobs at a higher frequency.

After a few months of traveling, he finally made it to Makarth. 

Not his first choice to replenish his coin quickly, but given that his first choice, Riften, had landed him in the trouble he had escaped from in the first place, it would do. Solitude would have been too obvious if Jonan was tracking him, and Whiterun would have been too busy. A mere inquiry about his appearance would have several people easily answering whether they had seen him or not. A town too small, and he couldn't disappear if he was spotted.

He dragged himself into the Silver-Blood Inn and found a quiet seat to sit at. He waved down the bartender for a drink, and his mood lightened with the beer set at the bar and a fresh bounty from the local guard in his pocket.

Daemon took a long swig.

“Now, here looks like a man who can drink…" 


End file.
